I have absolutely no more fight left in me. We both have been thieves, no moment had ever been ours. This is where this ride ends. This is where words stuck in the base of our throats like sour bile from the acid pit of our stomachs.

Love.

Once or twice, you uttered the word. The word dissolved into thin air as if it was never spoken at all. That was enough. You called me, 'love.'

Stop calling me that. Stop wailing the word like a banshee.

Palm to palm we once met. Your warm hand contrasting deliciously against my cold ones. Palm to palm we still meet, but your warmth had abosrbed my own coldness that you shriveled away from every touch.